And if there was, I have a feeling that no one would pay attention to it anyway. Matches seem to begin whenever the contestants decide they do. And I’m in no mood to start this match. He is taking his time, too, savoring each moment, trying to intimidate me. It’s working.
My only hope, I realize, is if the leaders decide to throw me down another weapon. And as I look up at their scowling faces, I see no sign of that.
Suddenly, he moves. He saunters slowly towards me, as if he has all the time in the world. As if he wants to savor this. I study his physique, looking for any possible weakness. But I find none: he is a wall of solid muscle.
As he gets close I slowly back away, circling along the wall of the cage. I realize this will make me seem weak, and probably embolden him. But I can’t see how he could be more emboldened than he already is, and I still don’t know how to fight this guy. Maybe, if I evade him long enough, I’ll get an idea. Or they’ll throw me a weapon. Or I’ll tire him out. Although these all seem doubtful.
He slowly approaches, and I keep backing away. The crowd gets antsy, hissing and booing, heckling me. They want blood. And I am no longer their favorite.
He walks a bit faster towards me, and I back away just as fast. He sidesteps left and I sidestep right. I can’t keep this up forever: he’s getting closer, and the distance is shortening.
Suddenly, he gets impatient and lunges at me, racing to grab me; at the last second, I sidestep, and run to the side. He grabs the thin air, and I’m already on the other side of him.
The crowd laughs at him. He turns around, and I can see his neck turn a shade of crimson. Now he’s really pissed. He charges me, sprinting with all he has. I have nowhere left to go.
At the last second, I try to sidestep to my right, but this time he sees it coming, and reaches out and grabs hold of my shirt. Without pausing, he turns and with one hand, spins and throws me. I go flying like a ragdoll across the ring, slamming into the metal cage. Luckily, I just miss a protruding spike.
The crowd roars in approval. I lie there, feeling the wind knocked out of me, feeling the throbbing in my calf and shoulder. With a supreme effort, I manage to get to my hands and knees, but as soon as I do, I feel his hands on my back, grabbing my shirt. He throws me again, head first.
I go flying like a cannonball across the other side of the ring. I feel myself airborne, and then smash headfirst into the metal cage. The pain is deafening. I bounce off it, and land on my back, on the floor, and am winded again.
The crowd roars, stomping its feet.
I look up just in time to see a huge foot stomping down, right for my face. At the last second I manage to roll out of the way. I feel the air rush by my ear as his foot slams into the floor just inches away. The crowd ooohs. It was a close call. A split second more, and his foot would have crushed my face to bits.
I roll over and without thinking, sink my teeth into his foot. I feel them pierce his flesh, and taste his salty blood as it trickles down my lips. I hear him grunt in pain and it makes me realize he’s human. I’m surprised by that. It’s a dirty move, but it’s all I can think of.
He snaps his leg away and kicks me hard across the face. I go flying, turning over several times, and slam into the corner of the cage.
He touches his bloody foot and examines his hand and sneers down at me with a newfound hatred. I wonder if he has just decided to kill me slowly instead of quickly.
I scramble to my feet and face him, and this time, I feel that I need the element of surprise. As crazy as it is, I charge him.
I leap into the air and do a flying front kick, aiming for his groin. I’m hoping that if I can kick him hard, in just the right spot, with my steel-tipped toes, maybe I can make an impact.
But he is too good of a fighter for that. He must spot my telegraphed action a mile away, because without even making an effort, he reaches down and blocks my leg. His metal gauntlet smashes into my calf, right into my wound, before I can make an impact. The pain is numbing. It stops me cold, and I drop to the ground, grabbing my calf in agony.
I try to get up, but he backhands me with his other gauntlet, hard across the face, and the force of it knocks me back, face-down, to the ground. I can feel the taste of blood in my mouth, and look down to see the floor covered in my dark-red blood. The crowd cheers.
I try to get up again, but before I can, I feel his hands on my back, feel him pick me up in the air, wind back, and throw me. He aims high, towards the top of the cage, and I go flying across the ring, right into it. This time, I think quick.
I reach out as I’m flying towards the wall, and as I hit it, I grab hold of the chain-link, clutching it. The wall sways a few times, but I manage to hang on. I’m up high on the metal cage, nearly fifteen feet off the ground, clinging for my life.
The brute looks annoyed. He charges towards me, reaching up to grab me and pull me down. But I scramble up, even higher. He reaches up to grab my leg, but I pull it up in the nick of time. I’m just out of his reach.
He looks perplexed, and I can see the skin on his neck redden with frustration. He hadn’t expected this.
The crowd jumps to its feet, roaring its approval. Clearly, they haven’t seen this tactic before.
But I don’t know how long I can hang on. My muscles are already weak, and as I cling to the cage, suddenly, I feel it swaying. I look down and see that the brute has grabbed the cage wall with both hands, and is shaking it violently. I cling to it like a buoy in a storm-tossed sea. I sway violently, but no matter how much he shakes it, I refuse to let go.
The crowd screams its approval, and laughs at him. I glance down and see his skin turn a darkening shade of red. He looks humiliated.
He reaches out, grabs the metal, and begins to pull himself up. But he is slow, awkward. He is far too heavy to be agile, and this cage is not meant to hold someone of his bulk. He climbs towards me, but now I have the advantage. He uses both hands to pull himself up, and as he gets close, I swing back one leg and kick him hard in the face, connecting on the corner of his temple, right at the corner of his facemask, with my steel-tipped toe.
It is a solid kick, one he does not expect-and to my surprise, it works. He falls back off the fence, a good ten feet, and lands hard, flat on his back, on the ground. He lands with such force, the entire ring shakes. It sounds as if a tree trunk has been dropped from the sky. The crowd roars, screaming its approval.
As I look down, I see that my kick has dislodged his facemask, which goes flying across the floor. He gets to his feet and scowls up at me, and for the first time, I can see his face.
I wish that I hadn’t.
It is a hideous, grotesque face, and barely even looks human. Now I understand why he wears the mask. His face is entirely burnt and charred, with huge lumps all over it. He is a Biovictim, and the worst I’ve ever seen. He’s missing a nose, and has slits for eyes. He looks more like a beast than a man.
He snarls and roars up at me, and if I wasn’t afraid before, my heart pounds with fear now. I feel as if I’m fighting something out of a nightmare.
But for now, at least, I am safe. I have outsmarted him. There is nothing he can do except stand down there and look up at me. We are at a stalemate.
That is, until suddenly, everything changes.
Stupidly, I am looking down, over my shoulder, at the ring below me. I never bother to look in front of me, never imagined there could be any danger from that direction. But one of the slaverunners, outside the ring, has managed to sneak up on me, with a huge pole, and shock me with it, right in the chest. I feel an electric jolt run through my entire body. It must be some sort of cattle prod; they probably reserve it for situations like this.
The electric shock sends me flying back, off the cage, falling through the air, and landing flat on my back on the floor. The force of it knocks the wind out of me again, and my body is still shaking from being electrified. The crowd roars in delight as I’m back down on the floor of the ring, helpless.
I can barely breathe, or feel my fingertips. But I have no time to reflect. The brute charges right for me, and looks madder than ever. He leaps into the air and raises his knees high, preparing to bring both feet down on my face, to stomp me to oblivion.
Somehow, at the last second, I manage to roll out of the way. I feel the wind of his kick rush past my ear, and then the thunderous stomp. It is enough to shake the floor, and I go bouncing off it like a plaything. I roll away, get to my hands and knees, then run to the far side of the ring.
Something suddenly drops from the sky, lands on the floor in the center of the ring. I look down and am
